Whose Fingers Brush the Sky
by bethemoon
Summary: Set approximately 18 years after current timeline. Written for the prompt 'Morgana's son comes to court.' Gen with subtext, no slash, rated T to be on the safe side.


**Title**: Whose Fingers Brush the Sky**  
Characters/Pairings**: Arthur/Gwen, Morgana/Bayard, implied Arthur/Morgana, Morgana/unknown, Lancelot/Gwen**  
Rating**: PG**  
Warnings**: None.**  
When**: Approximately 20 years on from current show-timing.**  
Summary**: To Arthur Pendragon, King of Albion, Lord of Camelot, from Morgana le Fay, Queen of Mercia, Lady of Tamworth, Greetings...**  
Disclaimer**: No, the epicness is not mine. Darnit.**  
Author's Note**: For almostinstinct on LJ , who requested Morgana's son coming to court. This kept trying to grow a plot, which was completely inexcusable of it. I don't have time! I have school to do, languages to learn, houses to clean by Mom's order request! So the end is a bit disjointed. Title from Emily Dickinson's 'The Wind.'

* * *

Arthur taps his finger thoughtfully on the table, looking at the letter in front of him.

"What do you think she means, Merlin?" he asks. Merlin's eyes shadow over, the way they always do when Morgana is brought up, and he shrugs non-committally, ducking his head to study the border reports in front of him. Arthur scowls. "I could use more help than that," he says, and tosses the letter to Merlin, who picks it up expressionlessly and gives it a quick glance-over before sliding it back.

"I would imagine she would like to ask that you let her son be fostered at court for a year," he says. "Just as it says in the letter."

"Just that? It's been 17 years! Don't tell me you don't think this is odd."

"I think Morgana's secrets are her own!" Merlin snaps, rising from his chair, and then he bites his lip and strides from the room before Arthur can say anything, can do more than open his mouth in dismayed surprise. His expression soon turns to a frown as he glances at the letter again.

_To Arthur Pendragon, King of Albion, Lord of Camelot, from Morgana le Fay, Queen of Mercia, Lady of Tamworth, Greetings..._

*

The trumpets sound too loud as Arthur strides forward, his eyes eagerly fixed on the young man who leads the small entourage that comes to meet them. His first thought as they both stop and the young man bows is _he has Morgana's eyes_. His second thought is to wonder where the young man gets his striking looks, because they aren't his father's and they hold only a faint resemblance to Morgana's.

"Welcome to Camelot, Sir Owain," he says, and the almost white-blond young man smiles at him, winter-cold and sharp like Morgana's had been in the last few days. "We are most pleased to have our beloved Morgana's son with us."

"It is an honor to be in Camelot the Great," Owain says with another low bow. The two entourages mingle behind them as they begin to walk together.

"Tell me, what has your training been so far?" Arthur asks.

*

_"He knows," Morgana said in shock, dropping onto one of the benches. Merlin and Gaius turned from their work._

_"Who knows what?" Gaius said._

_"Lord Bayard. He knows I'm a seer."_

_"How did he find out?" Merlin said, moving to her side. "Are you all right? Has he threatened you?"_

_"He's black-mailing me," Morgana says. "I have to agree to marry him, or he says he'll tell Uther about me." She shook her head. "There's no way out of it. I either leave Camelot and find somewhere safe to stay, or I marry him."_

_"I could always kill him," Merlin said grimly, dark eyes seething. "I'd do it for you."_

_"It would cause trouble with Mercia," she said. "We can't have that, not after we worked so hard for the treaty." She took a deep breath and licked her lips nervously. "I'll marry him. It's the only way."_

*

"What are you doing in my room?" Merlin asks calmly as he yanks his cloak off.

"Waiting for you, of course," Owain says lazily, lounging in Merlin's favorite chair.

"I rather thought so," Merlin says, and goes to his drawers, searching for a different pair of pants. He stays silent, still wary of this young man with Morgana's eyes and the same cold smile she had once worn when she was being most devious.

"I have a message for you from my mother," Owain says. "She told me to say thank you to you."

"She couldn't have sent a messenger at any point in the past 17 years? Written a letter, let us hear for ourselves how she was rather than getting all our news through your father?" The man I trust the least with her? The man who forced her to marry him in the first place? He doesn't look at Owain, keeping himself occupied in small tasks around the room.

"She said you'd ask that," Owain says. "She said to tell you it would have been too much of a risk." Merlin snorted.

"She could have found a way," he says harshly. "You should be in bed. Arthur doesn't believe in late mornings."

"He's getting old," Owain says. "I can take him." Merlin raises his eyebrows.

"You sound like your mother," he says. "She underestimated him too." Owain looks at him, openly curious, and then slips out of the room. Merlin shakes his head in almost amusement.

*

The days pass peacefully, more or less. Apparently taken aback by Merlin's outburst, Arthur hasn't pressed him about what he may or may not guess, but Merlin can feel the slight tension that's in the air, especially when Owain's around. Nonetheless, he doesn't say anything about Morgana. Morgana had sworn him to secrecy, even from Arthur, and he had kept his promise, even when Uther had died and the ban of magic had been lifted, replaced with strict laws about misusing your power.

He could still remember how Arthur had waited after Uther's death for Morgana to write, to give some sign that she cared, that she was proud of him for finally doing what they had both longed for. Nothing had ever come.

Merlin still hasn't never forgiven her for breaking Arthur's heart without an explanation or a backwards look.

*

"You've got a good grasp on the basics," Arthur says after at least an hour sparring with Owain, who's sweating and gasping for air. "But you need to refine your technique. Look for a move that's all your own, or a few. Create one if you want to. Irregularity is a weapon - use it. Don't ever build your entire fight around one move, that's stupid. Now, let's see what you can do with a bow."

*

"You have your mother's eyes," Gwen says when Owain is presented to her. She looks a little wistful - she and Arthur have never had any children, much as she wished for it, and here stands Morgana's son. It isn't, she thinks, particularly fair.

*

Lancelot beats Owain three times in a row. The fourth time, Owain beats him in five minutes flat.

He improves from there, though he never beats Lancelot again.

*

"I can't imagine why she married him," Gwen says to Lancelot. "He's at least ten years older than her. She's his third wife. Morgana never takes second place to anyone."

Never took, Lancelot thinks. Who knows how she's changed? He doesn't correct her.

"I wish I had a son," Gwen whispers against his hair, and he can feel the heat of her tears as she starts to sob. "Why couldn't she stay?" she manages between tears. "Everything would have been perfect if only she'd stayed! No hiding, no running, no guilt. Why couldn't she stay?" Lancelot doesn't have an answer, so he just holds her.

*

Something in their once-smooth facade has cracked with Owain's arrival, and they cannot seem to fix it.


End file.
